


to feel (is to understand)

by etsugai



Series: to feel (is to know) [2]
Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I just felt like writing something else so this happened, M/M, Short Chapters, Understanding, Vague Explainations, background stuff i guess, good sister sayu, like really short, look into the mind of the characters, read submerged first otherwise you'll be like wtf is this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 05:24:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16402112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etsugai/pseuds/etsugai
Summary: A look into the character's thoughts/backgrounds in 'submerged'





	to feel (is to understand)

**Author's Note:**

> Written in (submerged time: chapter two)

Growing up, her family had been the silent kind. 

And they are... kind. So kind, Sachiko knows. Her mother had been young when she’d given birth to her, married at eighteen and creating life at nineteen, and her husband— Sachiko’s father— is only a few years older, a successful bakery owner. They are smart, and beautiful, and once Sachiko had dreamed of being exactly like them— still dreams of being like them— but they were so, so _wise_ , and she knows that’s something that doesn’t come easy without experience, and she is too _sheltered_.

(She is sheltered, yes, but she still learns things from them, and they are important, _important_ things.)

When she is four, nearly five, Sachiko goes to daycare for the first time and watches a couple drop off their daughter, and that girl’s daddy— _speaks_. It is a low timbre, a whisper of a voice deep like the ocean, but it is there, and she wants to cry.

Her mother comes for her six hours later, and unlike the other children, she does not run towards her parent. She walks, and it’s a weak, confused walk, and when she sees her mother she blurts, “Why? Why doesn’t daddy talk— why doesn’t daddy _talk_ to me?”

 _He’s mute_ , she learns, and she doesn’t know what that means so her mother tells her that too— and it brings a sinking feeling to her gut, it brings tears to her eyes and snot to her nose and it’s— it’s not _fair_.

“But that’s fine,” her mother says, a strong assurance in her voice, “I know sign language, I’ll teach you, and actions— and actions speak louder than words—”

But she’s not listening. Her daddy has a _voice_ — and she can never, ever hear it. 

She can’t ever hear him speak words, and while this has never been a problem before, while this had been something normal before, now she knows— knows he’ll never be able to say things with his own voice, things like ‘good job’ and ‘be safe,’ and ‘ _I love you._ ’

Her mouth quivers, and when shaking fingers grasp the hem of her mother’s flowy shirt, she says tearfully, “Daddy— d-daddy loves me though, right?” and her the last words are quickly morphing into a sob, into _doubt_.

(And her mother gathers her in her arms, a warm comfort to the cold reality she faces, and she whispers, _he loves you, sweetie, we love you, and we always will, even if he can’t tell you through spoken words— don’t you forget that Sachiko— don’t you ever forget how loved you are._ )

Her father loves her, and their household had always been quiet. He’d bring home pastries for her from his bakery, kiss her cheeks, dance with her— her feet on his and her hands clutching larger ones as they sway in the living room, her mother smiling from the couch— and he’d make hearts with his hands. His eyes always sincere, his actions even more so.

Sachiko never forgets.

(But it leaves a mark. Not physically, but though her emotions, through her actions, and later, when she looks down at her arms, sees a child with brown eyes that shine amber in the light of the hallway of the house she and her husband bought together— she fumbles.)

 

 

Sachiko sneaks pepper spray into Light and Sayu’s bags. Telling them would panic them, she knows— and nervous children are sometimes the easiest targets.

  
  


_I care, I care, can’t you see? Can’t you see?_

  
  
  


_Talk to me_ , his eyes say, tired and sad and so amber against the yellow of the hallway light. _Just speak to me, please…_

  
  


_I can’t, I can’t, I’m sorry._

  


_Coward._

 

 

 

 

(And.. it’s not that Light isn’t smart enough to realise this on his own— it’s that he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to acknowledge that his parents don’t mean to be the way they are, because that’s harder, and Light’s _tired_.)

**Author's Note:**

> A girl; a star; a woman; a mother; a coward.


End file.
